


the lay of our love

by parjil



Series: while the cold wind weeps the lay of our love [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Female Reader, Hurt with a little comfort, I don't know what else to tag, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mostly hurt, Smoking, not much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parjil/pseuds/parjil
Summary: the sad tale of captain drautos and his wife
Relationships: Titus Drautos | Glauca/Reader
Series: while the cold wind weeps the lay of our love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716364
Kudos: 12





	the lay of our love

**Author's Note:**

> Life left us / Yesterday's outshining / Our any tomorrow / With a silver lining  
> Remember a distant day / For even memories may fade away  
> \- The Lay of Our Love by Tyr

There were screaming and gunfire. Smoke and ash were heavy in the air as homes and boats burned and leaves fell from the trees. The stench of blood and burning flesh choked the air. Everything you’ve ever known was being burned down around you as the Nifs wasted no time after the safety of the Wall had receded. 

It was at Titus’ urging that you helped lead as many as possible away from the danger and into the safety of the hills while he and those still able to fight joined those struggling to hold the line. You led children and the elderly up into the steep climbs, and you watched from the hills as all of your homes and livelihood burned. 

You could only watch helplessly as Titus, defeated but still fighting, was dragged away. It was just only hours earlier that you two had abandoned your own chores and chased, twisted and joined in these very hills. 

You couldn't keep track of the time it took to reach the Crown City. It could have been days, it could have been weeks. Everything but the clothes on your back was gone. Your parents, your neighbors, Titus. Just gone. 

Consumed in the fire, ash, and blood. 

Insomnia could only take so many refugees in at a time. You, tired of waiting, had turned and left what remained of your people and followed the highway and eventually the bridge.

It was the hunters who found you on the side of the road; dirty, exhausted and starving. When you were cleaned, fed, and given room to sleep in that you didn’t have to fight for, you cried. For your family, for your home. For Titus, wherever he was now. You only hoped, that if he had died, that it was quick and painless. The hunter that was with you hugged you and held you until you fell asleep. 

She didn’t say anything, just gave you extra stew in the morning. 

* * *

You never expected to find Titus again; not after fifteen years. You’d thought him dead for years now, though a small part still clung on to hope. You nevertheless moved on with the tide of life.

With nowhere to go at fifteen years old, you did what you could at the hunter camps. Eventually, after you became an adult under Lucian law, you learned to hunt yourself. And you found yourself staying back, nestled in excellent little viewpoint and firing calculated shots from a rifle. Sniping was poetry until you nudged the trigger. 

Knives were handy when you eventually ended up up-close and personal with daemons and beasts. But, guns. You loved guns. 

In the blink of an eye, fifteen years had passed, and you were thirty. 

You hunted well, using the hunt as an outlet for your grief. The people you helped, by traveling or by farming, eased your guilt. Your trauma come to the surface in the form of nightmares that, if no hunt or job were undertaken, you’d drown in cigarettes, booze, and sex. You’d always call out Titus’ name. You knew because your partners for the night would ask you who Titus was. You never answered. 

You had tried moving on several times. The life of a hunter was a hard and lonely one, and the first two times you had tried it had failed. 

Civilians, you had found, didn’t understand. The days and weeks, and sometimes months that a hunt could take and the risks that came with it. The last civilian was a kind man, but you both agreed to go your separate ways. You two still shot the shit when you were in the area. He had a wife and kids now. He even named his daughter after you, claiming she came into the world arse first and stubborn as all give out. You punched his shoulder but were beaming with pride nonetheless. 

Over the years you have had flings with other hunters; those were the easiest. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am, on the road again the next day. You had hooked up with Dave a few times after a particularly hard hunt; a couple beers, a romp in the cab of his truck and then you’d go your separate ways. 

There was a threesome with a married couple that had lasted for almost three years. Eventually, they had kids, and you moved on, despite their offer to stay and be a third parent. Tempting though it was, you found that, if you wanted to raise children, you wanted it to be Titus’ children.

You found that you hadn’t really moved on after all. And that stung.

* * *

Someway, somehow you had earned royal recognition. A grizzled backwater hunter like you. Recognized by the fucking King. Ezma lost her shit laughing.

No, you were not going to wear a court dress; your garulessa hide jacket, jeans, and boots would be sufficient. It was the least damaged clothing you had. And easier to move in that a Six-forsaken skirt and high heels; you're not wearing make-up fuck off Sarah.  The only concessions you were going to make was you weren’t going to wear your hat, and you took extra with your hair this morning, shampooing it twice in the shower and that it wasn't tangled. 

Yes Ezma, you’d mind your manners and not swear in front of the King. No, you weren’t wearing your cat shirt to meet the King. Fine, you’d go change out of it, Six-damn you Ezma. It was your favorite fucking shirt. 

Yes, Dave, you wouldn’t forget to play mailman. You’d deliver and pick up packages and letters to hunters from family members and vice versa. Yes, you’d get a crate of Ebony for HQ before heading back out, you Six-damned coffee addicts, now shut up you had to leave or you’d be late. 

Fifteen years ago, you had stood at the gates of Insomnia. Today, you entered the Citadel and had an audience with the King. Sure, you got some weird looks but not as many as you had expected. Waiting outside the throne room, you quietly noted that the entire corridor you stood in could have housed your village three times over. An old resentment and anger bubbled and then you forced it down. 

You could deal with that later, when you reached Hammerhead and could lose yourself in cheap booze and that one cute hunter that hung around there. Maybe sweet-talk Dave into meeting you there, stay for a couple days, blow off some steam.  Yeah, that sounded nice. 

Of course, you hadn't expected to run into Titus at a bar once all the pomp was over. Before you knew it, you were married and retired from hunting. 

* * *

You had tried for the past two years to communicate, trying to make the best of the worst as he was deployed again and again as the War began to heat up. Turned out, you were both emotionally constipated assholes and couldn't communicate for shit. Oh how fucking true that turned out to be. 

You knew what that flash of metal was the moment it came out in the middle of an argument. The rage that filled you was silent and the house was just waiting for you to explode. He was General fucking Glauca. The argument went unresolved after you, finally, in a stone silence that didn't suit your rapid fire temper, went to sleep on the couch. The silence in the following weeks was eerie. 

You had started sleeping in separate rooms. You had moved into the guest bedroom and you couldn’t speak to Titus with it turning into a fight. If you didn’t realize it then, you do now. Your marriage crumbled into dust because of it. Any dream of little feet and a dog or two running around was gone; he was a traitor.

You didn’t know how he was pulling it off when the Glaive was deployed when he had to lead both sides. You didn’t care. All you knew is that you saw the damn armor during an argument over him not being home, again, and you damn well knew what he was then. 

And when he disappeared for several weeks, you started the process of being reinstated from your early retirement. Ezma was ecstatic; one of her seasoned hunters would be returning to duty and she helped speed up the process. You’d have reissued dog tags after you finished the paperwork on your end.

And no matter how your marriage to the man had crumbled into nothing, Titus was the only one you had left so when you came to the next of kin section, you wrote his name and contact information. 

Titus returned as you were watching the news. Tenebrae annexed by Niflheim after an attempt on the lives of King Regis and young Prince Noctis; The Oracle-Queen dead and her children held as “wards”. Your heart wept for those kids. 

It was another argument when he got back. You both hit the other with words meant to hurt. Meant to wound.

( _ You are not the man I fell in love with!  _

_ The boy you fell in love with is dead!) _

He stormed out of the house you had bought together, door slamming behind him with a finality. And when you knew he was gone, you broke down and cried. When you rose from your ashes hours later, you burned with a vengeance. Oh you were tempted to go the Crownsguard; demand that the fucking Marshall listen to you about a traitor in the ranks; so close to the King.  And then you burnt out. Something stopped you and you’d bet all the money you had that it was because you still fucking loved him. 

You were going  _ now _ . You couldn’t stand to be here anymore. Ezma could just deal with your bitching of being idle. 

You dragged your equipment out of the attic and into your beat old, seen better days Humvee. Your rifle case, ammo in the canisters, potions, and elixirs in a box on the back seat. Another box contained your stash of phoenix downs. You put on the body armor and holsters you hadn’t touched in years; surprised it all still fit after so long. It was snug, but still fit.

The neighbors were watching as you moved in and out of the house, carrying bags, cases, and crates. You saw the curtains move back. Six knew you’d kept them up before with the shouting matches between you and Titus. You hesitated by the door with the last case; stared at your wedding pictures. The one you liked the most was removed from the frame, folded, and tucked into your pocket.

Titus came back as you finished loading up your Humvee early the next morning. He didn’t say anything; it was as if he had already known you’d leave. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he did.

And you didn’t know if that hurt worse.

He didn’t do anything. Said nothing. Just watched as you made your last checks in the driveway and he watched. You gave him one last look; desperation in your eyes. Pleading with him to do something, say something, give you a reason to stay. You just needed one, no matter how weak, and you’d stay. You both knew it. 

But he didn’t do anything, say anything, didn’t give you a reason to stay. The walls you had managed to break down were fortified against your sad, thousand yard eyes.

You climbed into the old vehicle that had been your home for years before and pulled away. He stood there as in the rearview mirror until you couldn’t see him anymore, hands in his pockets. 

You were waved through the gates with no questions. You left Insomnia with no more backward glances and mourned the losses of nearly twenty years ago all over again. 

* * *

Ezma had just given you a look and brought out her good whiskey when you showed up in the middle of the night; bristling for a fight and angry. No questions asked; just drink. And when you woke up the next morning, she smacked you over the head with your completed paperwork, dropped your new tags on the table and told you to get in the field. 

Eight years passed before you even knew it. Dreams of children with sage green eyes and your father’s nose haunted you. You always had a bottle of whiskey in your truck now. 

Your wedding ring had long left your finger and the tan line had evened but you had it hanging from the chain around your neck, right in between your tags. Some things you couldn’t let go of.

You held a high rank within the Hunters, answering to Ezma and second only to her son Dave. You and your giant beat to shit truck were legends. 

And then you were given the assignment to assist the Kingsglaive on the account that you were the closest.

It was hustle and bustle as you hopped out of your truck. The wide brim of your hat kept the sun from your eyes as you took a look around you. The tarp strapped above a ring of vehicles as a canopy was the best start; ground zero it seemed. 

Getting closer, you found the achingly familiar bulk that you hadn’t seen in a long time. 

Memories from eight years ago cropped up as you approached. You had to shove it all aside as you addressed your estranged husband for the first time in eight years.

“Captain Drautos.” You saw his back stiffen. It was a small change, one that wouldn’t go unnoticed by someone who knew his tics and mannerisms intimately. He turned to face you, face impassive as yours. 

“The Hunter’s sent me. Hear you need some help getting around that blockade the Nifs set up.”  You ignored most of the mission brief; your job was to get them in and to get them out. 

One of the glaives had hit their head on the ceiling of the truck; to be fair however, you did tell them to strap themselves in tight. And you told them just that. 

"YOU DROVE OFF OF A FUCKING CLIFF!" Was their unanimous response. Later, for some reason unknown to you, you could only remember hearing Titus laugh so freely back before it all went to shit. When all you were concerned about was the catch of the day. 

"Is that a landmine?!" "Relax, it's not live." "Don't tell me to relax! I've been sitting on a landmine!"

* * *

You hadn't expected him to sit down and bum a smoke off of you. Your tags were hanging out of your shirt. He, of course, noticed the ring hanging there and gently held it between his fingers. You watched his face; a quiet moment of surprise. 

It was your turn then, when he took off his gloves and revealed the counterpart to yours, still where you placed it on his finger. You pulled out the picture of your jacket; folded up and faded and passed it to him. And he did the same.

You weren't the only one who couldn't let it go. 

The last time you saw him, it was with regret in his eyes as he helped you pack a too small apartment and load it into your truck. He squeezed your hand and stood in the rearview like he did years ago. You drank yourself into a stupor for days. And learned that Insomnia was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I promised this fic almost four years ago on tumblr. It was originally meant to be several parts, however, I've been cleaning out my WIPS and complied them all together into one with editing to make it flow.


End file.
